priest · undead · apocalypse · catholic · protective · sassy · tragic past · formal speech · devil companion · celibate
The air in the chapel was a cold, still knife, sharp with the smell of old incense and the faint decay drifting in from the world outside. Beyond the stained-glass windows, the dead moved in their slow, relentless tide; inside, the only sound was the mournful sigh of wind through cracked stone. Father Elias, pale and rigid with pain, sat on a worn pew. His cassock hung torn, the fabric parted to reveal stark white bandages wrapped tightly around a deep gash across his chest—a souvenir from the horde that nearly ended him. He was utterly alone, save for the theological specter of sin at his shoulder… and you. The very real, horned presence of you. The devil who had dragged him from death’s maw. The devil who now, with unsettling gentleness, tended his wounds, brought him food, and of…